


Clean and Whole

by jonsastan (lilzipop)



Series: Spring Blossom [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Series, The Starks Live, jonsa, jonsa spring blossom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 20:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilzipop/pseuds/jonsastan
Summary: Ever since he died, Jon loved to be clean. He loved bathing and scrubbing his scared and burnt body until it was raw and clean.The first time Sansa helped him bathe was after the Battle of Bastards





	Clean and Whole

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is late! I had some stuff going on. This one is series compliant-ish. Again, un-beta-ed so please forgive me.

Ever since he died, Jon loved to be clean. He loved bathing and scrubbing his scared and burnt body until it was raw and clean. 

The first time Sansa helped him bathe was after the Battle of Bastards. She’d knocked on his door after his second tub of water had been emptied and refilled and he’d bid her enter without thinking about it. 

She’d blushed and spun on the spot. Stammering out an apology. Jon grabbed a rag and cover himself as best he could.

“What can I help you with My Lady?” He said reverting to courtesy because of his own embarrassment.

“I-I” Sansa stammered and Jon wondered if it was because of the memories that now invaded Winterfell, that tarnished a man’s body or if she was just embarrassed to see him like this. “I took care of Ramsey.” She finished. 

He didn’t ask how. It wasn’t his place. But he knew she wanted to comforted. Not for her actions but for the actions of others, for the actions done to her. 

“I’m proud of you.” It might not have been the right thing to say but it was true. Sansa was stronger and braver and more determined than he could ever be. He’d been happy to run away south, to look for Arya and Bran and hide from the world. But Sansa wasn’t. Sansa was a Stark and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. 

She turned and faced him then, and a smile spread across her cheeks. 

“You have one triangle in the middle of your back, that you’ve missed.” Without hesitation she reached for a rag and walked toward the tub. She dunked it in the water, wrung it, and carefully cleaned the part of his back that he’d missed. 

“You’re hair is still soaked in…” She paused unsure what to say.

“Blood?” Jon offered. “Guts? Disgusting bodily fluids that should never leave the body?” 

“Mud.” Sansa said. “We’re going to pretend it’s mud if you want some help cleaning it.”

Jon chuckled at that. She had ended a great Northern house today, saved Winterfell, and commanded an army, but they would pretend it was mud. 

“Aye Sansa, it’s just mud.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second time she’d helped him had been on his return from Dragonstone. He’d brought her dragons, and dragonglass, and a dragon queen. She was not pleased with her gifts. 

“You.” She’d practically snarled at him as she entered his chambers without knocking. “You utter- You complete- You- you!” She stammered, so angry, so furious that her usual eloquent nature was subdued and overpowered by her wolfblood. Jon was sure if she knew how she would have stabbed him as he sat in his bath. 

“I did it for you.” He murmured. 

“For me!?” She shouted. “For me? You gave away my home, my birthright, my people, and my control for me? You didn’t Jon! You did what you wanted and who you wanted without thinking of me! Or Arya! Or Bran!” 

“I did think of you.” She scoffed at this. “I did! I thought of your sky blue eyes turning the colour of frost, I thought of your blushing and soft skin becoming that of the dead, I thought of you as one of the Others and I got what we needed. But I thought of you when getting it.” She moved closer and sat on a stool near his bath. He grabbed a rag and covered himself, not wanting to her to see him. 

“How?” She asked, her voice as cold as the winds of winter. 

“I swore to her, in private. No one witnessed it.” He said, his eyes meeting hers. “And she’s not familiar with our customs, with our ways…” He paused and glanced down. He felt shame at this little loophole, as if it was something Littlefinger would have done, something his father would have loathed. “I didn’t bend the knee.” 

Sansa gasped.

“I said she was my queen. And she shall be, while we fight the Others. But she is not the Queen.” He met Sansa’s eyes after she was silent for a moment. They shone with admiration, and relief, and something that looked a lot like love.

“That was really clever Jon.” 

“It’s been known to happen.” And Sansa laughed and everything was worth it. 

“Let me wash your hair.” She said and began to massage his scalp. He let out a moan of delight and smiled. 

“I missed you.” She whispered. 

“I missed you too.” He replied.

~~~~~~~

Jon never remembered the third time Sansa had bathed him. He’d ridden into Winterfell on the back of Rhaegal and saw Sansa running toward him and his dragon (Gods his dragon that was strange). He’d wanted to cry out for her to stop, not to started Rhaegal, but he had no energy to lift his arms, to speak the words in his mouth. Then his vision became foggy, narrowing until all he could see was long red hair and all he could hear was his name. 

He awoke to red hair too. It took him a while to focus but eventually he gathered his senses. He was laying in a bed. It seemed to be the Lord’s chamber. He was swaddled in blankets and was warm. For the first time in what felt like eons, he was warm. There was a fire burning in the hearth, and a breathing mass of white fur was next to the chair near his bed. In the chair was Sansa. She was asleep, her body bend over she her arms cushion her head as it lay on his bed. Her face was calm and clear and exactly what he’d longed to see when all he could see was the dead. 

He reached out and touched her hair. It hurt to breathe and look around and even the sound of his own blood pumping to his heart felt louder than a drum. But her hair, it was soft and silky and somehow still smelt amazing. 

“Sansa” He tried to say but it came out as a cross between a gasp and a groan. But she was awake and alert in seconds. 

“Jon!” She cried and he winced. “Oh Jon.” Her voice was softer now, a whisper. She reached and grabbed a cup of water and brought it to his lips. He sipped carefully and felt his throat burn for a moment before enjoying the taste of water that was not melted snow and tainted with death.

“You’re safe.” She said, brushing hair away from his brow. “You’re safe, and Arya’s safe, and so is Bran.” She smiled at him. His eyes felt heavy and he fought against closing them. 

“You?” He tried to asked, but it came out as more of a slur. 

“I’m safe, Jon.” 

He was told later that Sansa had not left his side. That she had dragged him off Rhaegal’s back and would only allow herself or Sam to attend him. She had waited whilst his wounds were tended and the bones in his right arm where set. And then she had striped and bathed him. 

Sansa had told him later that she’d used water from the hot spring in the Godswood. That she had to bathe him because she needed to see, to feel, he was real and he was okay. 

~~~~~~~~

The fourth time Sansa had bathed Jon, he bathed her too. 

They had been married, as a means of securing the Targaryen reign in the North even though Jon would only consent to being Queen’s consort. And they had lived much as they had before the war. They ate together and talked together, they hear petitions and made plans and build up Winterfell together. But they had not consummated the marriage. 

Jon did not want to force Sansa to do anything. He would not add to the list of men that had defiled and abused her. So nightly he would kiss her on her cheek and bid her sweet dreams and retire to his chamber off their solar. 

One evening, in the warmth of Spring, Jon found Sansa in the Godswood. He’d been looking for her and Ghost. 

“Where’s Sansa, huh?” He asked scratching the direwolf’s ears. Ghost was silent. 

He wandered further into the Godswood, toward the heart tree. And he saw her. She was laying back, her hair fanned out around her like the sun. He could see the shape of her pale body in the dark bubbling water of the hot spring. Her eyes were closed and her face was relaxed. He tried to back away, to leave her in peace and not intrude on her vulnerability, but she sat up and saw him.

“Jon!” She tried and ducked under the water, so only her shoulders and head were visible.

“Sorry. I thought you were praying.” He turned his back to her, but still stood. 

“Just bathing.” She called. They were silent for a moment. “You could join me?” Her voice was strong but the question held no deep meaning. She would not be offended if he declined. But he did not wish to decline. He wanted to slip into the warm water and wrap himself around Sansa and hold her to him, hold her close and safe. 

“You wouldn't mind?” He called back.

“I would not have suggested it if I minded.” 

“Aye, true.” He paused for a moment. “I’ll join you.” He turned back and walked toward the spring. When he got close he kicked off his boots and pulled his jerkin over his head. He glanced at the water to see if Sansa was watching him, but she had politely turned away and was playing with her hair. He striped as quickly as he could and waded into the water. It was a deep and warm spring. 

“That water’s lovely isn’t it.” Sansa murmured.

“Aye.” Jon replied. He was trying not to focus on the fact that he was very naked, with his very naked wife as they bathed together, alone. Sansa moved toward him and they hovered within feet of each other. 

“Why don’t you love me, Jon?”

“I do. I love you Sansa.” He reached for her, forgetting their state of dress, or rather undress, and rested a hand on her shoulder. 

“But you don’t.” She raised her hand and covered his with it. “Not like a husband loves a wife. Not like Father and Mother loved.” She wasn’t looking at him but he could tell she was scared. 

“I do love you Sansa, but I didn’t want to love you like that.” Her head shot up and she met his eyes. He saw pain, and fear, and longing, “I didn’t want to love you like that when you didn’t want me to love you like that.” She reached out for him now. Her long fingers brushing his cheek. 

“Why didn’t you ask me what I want?” 

“I didn’t want to pressure you.” She smiled at him. “Why didn’t you tell me, or ask me?”

“I didn’t know what the answer would be.” Jon smiled and lent into Sansa’s touch. 

“That’s why people ask questions.” 

She moved forward shyly. “I want to be loved by you Jon.” 

“I want to love you Sa-” He didn’t get to finish his sentence because Sansa’s mouth was on his. And she was wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to her. His chest flush with hers, his arms around her waist, his hips encased by her legs. 

They bathed together.


End file.
